


Entomology

by customfont



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Age Difference, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Mind Control, dubcon, gabriels REAL TOUCHY AND PREDATORY IN THIS so be careful
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 09:57:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14892461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/customfont/pseuds/customfont
Summary: Who would've thought that he was already so close to her?





	Entomology

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who was super supportive of me writing this!! This first chapter has actually been done for a while, but I kept getting skittish about posting it... Oh well. I have posted and will CONTINUE to post worse.
> 
> Rated explicit for future sex scenes, things get hot but not heavy end of chapter. There's also a pretty in depth description of a wrist getting broken and a looming threat of further violence. Stay safe! If any of this sounds triggering to you, don't move forward.

The fight had gotten unnecessarily brutal.  
  
Ladybug had chased down one of his butterflies (unharmed, thank goodness) and decided to try and follow it back to his lair, and wanted to settle this.  
  
He saw this, intercepted it, confronted her in an alley. It was quick, she had landed a blow and she tried to lash out at his face, and he struck her wrist back with his cane. A viscerally loud CRACK echoing against parisian bricks, and she made an awful sound as she stumbled back. During this, it struck him that with all this time staring at her from afar that he never realized how small she was, the baby-rounded of her face and huge eyes. she was... well, she probably was around his son’s age, if he were to wager.  
  
He was not a betting man, but he was very sure of himself. This was evidence, this was exhibit A.  
  
A few days later Adrien begs him to go to a friend’s house (extremely no) and then tries to bargain him down to bringing a friend over to their mansion (no), a girl who is a girl (explicitly forbidden), which is DIFFERENT than a GIRLFRIEND, he insists, and she’s been out of school for a few days because of an injury, she could use help catching up and  
  
Fine. Fine, he's sick of the whining (and deep deep down does not like to disappoint his son) so she can come over.  
  
Her name is Marinette, her parents are bakers, and she has jet black hair and blue eyes and a very lithe form and a wrist brace. Exhibit B, C and D.  
  
He extends his hand to hers and she reaches out with the braced one (her dominant) and he holds it in his palm like she's a lady of court. She’s starstruck. “Marinette,” he says, “How did you harm your wrist?”  
  
“Oh, uh,” and she stutters for a second, “It’s, not exciting, I just, tripped, fell flat on it wrong, isn't it just the worst?” she finishes with a nervous giggle.  
  
She is a horrible liar.  
  
“Uh.” she says, and he realizes the moment is dragging. “My apologies,” he says, adjusting his glasses, “You have such lovely skin.”  
  
Nervous giggle again, loud enough that Adrien can read the extremely weird mood. She pulls her hand back, says thank you, and Adrien pulls her upstairs.  
  
“Sorry about my dad.” He overhears Adrien say, “He’s not weird, he’s just…” he pauses, then starts up the stairs. “Okay, that's wrong, he is kind of weird. But he’s not trying to be, he just always has an eye out for models. Don't put much thought in it.”

He bristles at that, but partially appreciates adriens willingness to cover up for his worst behavior. Nonetheless, he feels nervous, near twitchy at this development.

He ran over the summary he made Adrien give him before he allowed her into his home. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Same age. Liked fashion. Athletic.

And a high probability that she was the one outsmarting him for all this time.

A teenager. He was more than twice her age.

He already tripped through their first interaction (embarrassing, thinking of all the interviews where he was called ‘charming and charismatic’) and had to make up for it. She probably wasn't very keen on being intentionally alone with him.

So he sends his faithful butterflies around the house and waits, checking through their eyes constantly while pretending to work. Waiting agonizingly for a whole hour.

Until she finally, finally, goes to the kitchen by on her own.

* * *

She needed a moment to herself.

Adrien had been very, very worried about her while she was at the hospital (and apparently had tried to visit, “but uh, his home situation isn't the greatest”). He’d been practically doting on her, carrying her bags, helping her with her homework, sitting with her at lunch.

It… was a lot to take in, but obviously not unwarranted. She tried to act normal, but she was shakey enough. The fight with Hawkmoth rattled her, and she found herself flinching more, harder to focus on her schoolwork again. Her wrist was healing up, already out of the cast and into a brace, but her brain felt like it had hairline cracks in the surface. Any more jostling and she might shatter.

Adrien was a welcome companion. He was quiet even on his most exciting days, gentle, patient. Alya would not stop texting winking emojis over it.

When her math grade dropped another few points, Adrien offered to help her study after school. It made everyone’s heart stop, not just hers. Because that meant he had to ask his dad for permission.

The phone call was brutal to listen to. Adrien practically begging his father’s assistant to put his dad on the phone, Adrien finally talking to his father (getting interrupted about four times while trying to explain why he called so early in the day and why it wasn't an emergency) Adrien getting flustered trying to explain that no, that’s DIFFERENT than a friend who just HAPPENS to be a girl (Alya slapped her on the back while Marinette buried her face into her hands) to finally, finally, Adrien’s original idea of going to a friend's house until 7 was bargained down to his house until 6. Fine, perfect, thank you, Sir.

He hung up his phone and severely looked like he was ready for death, but everyone cheered him on for being so assertive.

Marinette couldn't stop smiling about it. Standing up to his dad! For _her_! It was downright romantic.

And now she was here, surely making a massive idiot of herself around him, but she was having fun. Too much, almost, she was getting to anxious around him, holding onto Adrien’s every word about geometry like it was gospel.

So she excused herself, and now Marinette was stumbling around the kitchen, opening and shutting cupboards and deciding the only thing worse than trying to find where your friend keeps cups in their house is doing it with a broken wrist in a house with some fancy artsy postmodern look. it should be a crime.  
  
After opening an extremely lavish spice cabinet she hears “Oh, do you need some help?” And turns around and oh jeez how long has Adrien’s dad been standing there.  
  
“Oh! Y-yes, I was just getting some water. Sorry for the noise,” she said, more nervous than she’d like to sound. It was probably impossible not to be intimidated by him.  
  
He reaches over her head and opens a cabinet, retrieving an aesthetically pleasing cup and handing it to her. “If you need help, don't hesitate to ask. I’m surprised my son didn't accompany you.” He says dryly, obviously annoyed that Adrien wasn’t the picture of perfect etiquette.  
  
“Oh,I’m fine! Please don't worry about me,” Marinette says graciously. She wants to smooth over the ticked nerve, but something feels strange, he doesn't look worried by any sense. She sets the cup next to the sink and says confidently, “It’s just a matter of testing my limits.”  
  
“Mmhm,” he says, and she quietly wonders what he sounds like when he’s interested in a conversation. “Tell me, how long have you known Adrien?”  
  
Marinette shrugs as she turns on the sink. “Since he first began to go to school. We share classes, he sits behind me.” It was peculier, she thought. She’d been into fashion since she was young, and Gabriel Agreste was one of the most famous stationed in Paris. Clean, luxurious, contemporary designs, logo on every beautiful Parisian’s purse. Movie star wife, princely son. Someone she admired.

Now he mostly just registered as Adrien’s control freak dad, who liked her skin. Charming.

But Marinette knew it was vital to remain warm, diplomatic, polite. Too excited and she’d be a groupie, too bored and she’d just be here for the novelty. Adrien’s freedom was fragile in the best of times, she wanted to prove a good example.  
  
“Marinette, precisely,” and there’s a beat, a hesitation, “How did you break your wrist?”  
  
She pauses and feels the skin on her arms tighten. It was… odd that he was so fixated on it (Did he think her parents did it? It’s the only thing that comes to mind, but it seems less concern and more suspicion.)  
  
“Ah. another supervillain, thing, people were running,” It was best to build the lie into the truth, “I tried to hide. Slipped. That was it. I didn't even notice how bad it was.” She turns around and starts to fill her cup even though something in her head is telling her she shouldn't take her eyes off him.  
  
“How unfortunate,” he says. Everything from him is so monotone, she has difficulty telling if its 'my dad is kind of weird'ness, an attempt at small talk. Your wife disappears, you unravel, don't put much thought to it. But the entire conversation felt weird. He stood too close, watched her too intently.

“It wasn't that bad, and it’s already almost healed. No need to worry.” _Don't put much thought to it._

“It must’ve been quite terrifying, being alone in the alley.”

Yes, it was, she wants to say, and it was scary and isolating and the worst pain she ever felt, so why---  
  
It was a strange sensation, like falling. Blood pressure drop, room cold, only sound of running water and the glass clattering in the sink in the few seconds it took her brain to connect the dots and panic. “Mister Agreste,” she says, trying to play it casually, but her voice cracks, “I didn't say i was in an alley.”  
  
He is standing very close and she turns to look at him (though she is afraid) and just sees herself in his glasses. He puts her hand on the counter next to her, his arm brushing hers and sending pinpricks up her shoulder.  
  
His hand raises up, brushes her pigtails. “Marinette, he says, his voice so quiet, his expression  the barest hint of a smile. “These are beautiful earrings.” His fingers brush against her cheek and she wants to cry out but something is, is stopping her, making her throat feel tense and how does he know that, how _COULD_ he there were only two people in that alleyway and one of them was  
  
She feels something on the back of her working hand. Her eyes peel away from his glasses for a second as she sees a black moth on the back of her hand settle there and dissipate into her skin.  
  
Anxiety covers her like a lead blanket. “Hhh, is all she says, “hhha.” he laughs quietly. “I was worried for a moment, that I was wrong, but I had quite the case against you.”  
  
“Hhhaa,” she responds.

“And now i can puppet you as i want. but we'll savor this, hm?”  
  
He leans closer to her, close enough to smell the cologne on his neck and how the heat on his skin radiates off and  
  
“Marinette? Are you sure you don’t need help?”  
  
He tenses like a cat and sighs, stands up straight, smile gone. “Adrien, he says loudly, “Please come down here.”  
  
She shudders and tries to stand up as she hears Adrien’s steps, but feels unsteady to her core, how was she expected to stand on her own two feet after _that_. He takes a few steps back from her, glares, “Stand up straight,” he says through his teeth, and suddenly she is, straight as any arrow, her heart the only thing that was so unsteady anymore.

Adrien comes around the corner and is already worried looking. “Adrien,” his father says, “Is this really how you treat your friends?”  
  
“I”, Adrien opens his mouth but Gabriel cuts him off, “Honestly, did I raise you to be so rude? This is Marinette's first time here and she's injured.” He picks up the cup in the sink and refills it. Marinette breaths in and digs her left hands nails into her palm.  
  
“Of course. Sorry, Marinette. Sorry, Father.” Adrien says. Practiced, said a million times. Adrien starts to go back up stairs as Marinette wants to shout for him to stay, but her lips are sewn shut.  
  
“I’ll carry this for you, Marinette,” Gabriel says, resting his hand casually on her shoulder.  
  
She just nods. Wordlessly ascends the stairs but her jaw is set. This wont pass, she'll get through this, he won't get away from this.  
  
“It wouldn't be fair to just take your powers immediately, don’t you agree?” He says quietly. “But for now, Paris is safe. A truce. Isn’t that nice?”  
  
He squeezes her shoulder too hard as they near adriens door, and he presses the cup into her working hand and squeezes her fingers. “And like I said, if you need any help, don't hesitate to ask.”  
  
He smirks, pats her shoulder, and walks away.

* * *

She gets the text at 10 pm and has to sneak out. It’s the address of a cafe she knows Adrien likes from an unknown number, and a meeting time, a half hour from now. Her pulse pounded just looking at it. It wasn’t fear, though, it was all anger, all-encompassing frustration.

She’d been sloppy. Distracted. She should’ve waited for a time when Chat Noir could follow the moth with her, but he had to run off. And they always seemed to float high up and disappear, but this one merely fluttered down the streets.

She chased after it. Cheers from adoring civilians, flashes from peoples phone cameras illuminating the darker streets.

The fluttering white light went down a dead alley. She skidded to a stop at it’s entrance and followed it, and there he was, tall figure illuminated in a flickering street light.

“Ladybug,” he says. “So glad we could meet.”

She didn't say anything, incredulous at first.

“Oh? Surprised to see---”

She didn't know how the sentence ended because she tried to roundhouse kick him. He jerked back, teeth clenched, eyes sparked with anger. “Oh, is this how you want to do things,” and she swings at his jaw hard enough to make the air whistle. He pulled back again but she grazes his chest (god he's taller than she had hoped)

“That's enough,” he growls, and she shouts when she swings again, making contact with his shoulder. He flinched back, grunted, and she felt her knuckles sting as as she reeled away, set up for the next blow. “I said,” she threw her weight forward, “That's,” thumb untucked, wrist straight, “ _ENOUGH_ ”

She hadn’t even seen him swing the cane, just heard the whoosh of air and the crack of her wristbones against it, visceral and loud.

She screamed before the pain hit (burning crushing feeling shattered bone clatter against each other) but once it did her throat closed up, the rest of her voice barely escaping her mouth in awful choked stutters, “ _ggg. ghuuh. hhgf.”_

She grabbed her limp hand to steady it and realized she already used up her ability to fix the earlier collateral damage, she was already pushed for time, she already felt weak.

Her legs shook and she fell to her knees. She looked at Hawk Moth, who was once more quickly backing away, and she morbidly imagined he was gearing to swing it against her skull.

“I,” he started, but he gave up finding the words and ran.

Her powers ran out and she stumbled onto the street, managing to get someone to call an ambulance. Managing to lie to her parents and say she had tripped in the earlier commotion.

Managing to sneak out the back door of her house without a second thought.

She bit her lip as she kept walking the streets, tiptoeing away from the backdoor entrance of her parent’s shop. It was a chilly night in early spring, and no one wanted to be out in such weather, least of all Marinette. But here she was, pounding the pavement in a thick winter jacket, desperately hoping no one would question why a 15 year old was out so late for. _She was a good girl_ , she thought bemusedly to herself, _she would never do something like this, even if she had to._

She fumed. She’d been off her game since that day. Avoiding shortcuts, trying to stick with chat when the situation allowed it. She needed to pay more attention to her instincts, and her instincts were currently telling her to stay far, far away.

But if she didn’t go, what then? The back of her wrist itched. Earlier, he just had to sneer orders at her and she followed. How much worse could it get?

One thing comforted her. He had been that close for so long, and that was bad, but however stupid she felt must’ve been felt worse for him. He was the one who was getting beat by a teenager.

Mister Agreste stood near the door of the closing cafe, waiting, stonefaced as usual. As soon as she was close enough to catch her eyes, he stared over at her. The professional mask seemed to melt as she got closer, his mouth curling into a smile, his eyes studying her.  
  
"Ah. I’m pleasantly surprised you came of your own accord. Already more obedient than most.” He said.

If she still had any doubts on his identity, they quickly disapated. “Hawkmoth.” She responded.  
  
His eyes dragged flitted over her body. He looked amused. “It’s much harder to take you seriously face to face.”

She didn’t have a good retort, so she just narrowed her eyes. “Tell me why I’m here.”

He shook his head. “So impatient. Walk with me, won't you?”

He turned without letting her respond and she followed behind. He didn't say much as they started down the street, further and further away, Marinette realizing that the city was unnervingly quiet.

“You're very strong willed, you know that?” he said suddenly, just as they rounded a corner.

“As you've noticed, teenage girls seem to provide some alarmingly intense emotions to manipulate.” He threw a casual glance back at her. “Makes my part in this all fairly easy.”

She shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and fidgeted at the fabric inside. Not just any girls, her classmates. Agitating them, deliberately hurting them and making their suffering worse.

“But you don’t bend to my will so easily. I’ve had much tougher wrapped around my fingers. Stop here.” He stops and she suddenly does as well, naturally as breathing, almost running into him. He turns and stares down at her. “That’s the game, then. That I can get you to submit to me. I think I can make you willingly surrender your Miraculous.”

“Not a chance,” she blurts out, and he waits patiently for her to finish and then some, making her feel like an interrupting child.

“And, if you can find a way to remove my moth before then, you win. Hawk Moth never threatens the city again.” Same warmth from him being so close, same cologne smell as in the kitchen (though all she could identify was cloves, which made her wonder if he actually just smoked).

She should feel nervous, but her thoughts were strangely clear. Finding out her identity might turn in her favor. He was underestimating her. He'd gotten more full of himself, too smug over this victory, even after she bested him every time before.

She chews her bottom lip, trying to think of how to gain leverage. “Rules.” She mutters, barely even thinking about it.

He blinks. Oh god, it _worked_.

“I said, rules.” She furrowed her brow, each word coming out slowly, thought about. “I’m at a severe disadvantage. If we don’t establish boundaries, it’s not much of a game.”

He clicks his tongue, but seems impressed or at least admires her recklessness. “Fine. I’ll concede that you’re right.”

She nods. “No more Akuma attacks. It’s not fair.”

He nods. “Of course.”

“We keep this out of our regular lives. You’re the reason my grades are so poor lately.” It was meant as a jab but came off like a joke, immature.

He laughs. “Fine, I need to catch up on my projects anyway. Too busy focusing on you.”

She tries to ignore that. “And we keep Chat out of this. Me being incapacitated isn’t fair on him.”

That piqued his interest. “Oh,” he starts, “Don’t want your boyfriend finding out about this?”

She glares at him, fighting the urge to shout at him. “No more Akumas for now, no interruptions, Chat stays safe. Is it a deal or not?”

“And what if I say no?”

Her eyes narrow. “I start screaming right now, and you won’t be able to stop me.”

He rolls his eyes, a motion that would look uncanny on Mister Agreste, but seems to suit Hawk Moth fine. “Fair.”

She thrusts her hand out, a sign of good faith, shaking to seal the deal.

He didn't hesitate to take her hand in his and grip it tightly. “Lovely. I think it’s good that we lower the scale of this. We’re the two that matter most now.”

She tries to slide her hand out of his grip, but he doesn’t let her. “After all, you’ve been very important in my life for quite some time.” He starts to lead her down the alley and she shudders as she realizes where they are, not just going alone down a quiet, hidden spot with someone who terrified her, but in trying to focus on him and only him she didn’t pay attention to her environment.

The same dark alley. The first time they met.

“Don’t back out on me now. Follow me.” He says, and she distantly remembers the sound of her wrist breaking.

They’re halfway down it, far enough in between the buildings that you would had to squint to see the faces of people walking by. It smelled like damp dirt and flat beer, just like it did before. He lets go of her hand. “I didn’t intend to meet up with you so quickly. I wanted to let you really take it in. But,” he said, taking a step forward. Marinette steps back. “Maybe I was impatient, but I wanted to meet you, _really_ meet you.”  
  
He took another step forward and she felt bricks to her back. Worse than before.  
  
She couldn't meet his gaze. She felt weak and small under him. Hawk Moth, the secret rich socialite, and Ladybug, the exceedingly average teen girl.  
  
His hand slid down her right shoulder and his fingers gently wrapped around her wrist brace. "I didn't think i struck you that hard." He said under his breath. Marinette’s breath sped up, but she said nothing in response.  
  
"What," she said, "Are you trying to get out of this?" she said clearly.  
  
He’s quiet long enough that she considers repeating herself. "I’ve always been right at your heels, hm? But you always best me," He said. No more teasing, no more jabs, every word quiet, and steady. "And I got the upper hand because of dumb luck. Hardly a dramatic conclusion."  
  
He leaned close to her forehead, she struggled to look anywhere but his eyes. "I want to destroy you. That hasn't changed."  
  
His hand tightened on her thin wrist brace, sliding his fingers under it. She squirmed, let out pathetic noises from the back of her throat. It was healing well, but it was tender, the slightest pressure feeling like pressing against a deep bruise.

She closed her eyes and things got hazy, felt suddenly warm. _Stay quiet, don't wriggle so much_ , and she followed the command, trying to keep still as he presses against the gentle skin. She dug her shoes into the ground and closed her mouth to stifled a yelp. It stung, and she was waiting for the inevitable grip down to really make her suffer.

But he kept her on edge. His fingers wrapped around her wrist and his thumb pressed against her veins, rubbing in circles against the sinew of it. It had dulled to a persistent ache and she was getting lightheaded. Her knees shook and she started to sink down against the wall.

She feels his grip tighten, hears her fist swinging for him and the rush of air from his cane striking it.

She hunched forward, face against her chest, and twisted her neck towards her brace. He stopped, but didn’t let up. “Disobedient,” he said under his breath.

It felt like someone was holding her whole body down, like her thoughts weren’t transmitting to her limbs. All she could hear seemed to be her own breath, struggling, and the way his seemed to stop and start along with hers.

She glared at her wrist and willed her working arm to twitch, shake, SOMETHING, until it finally seemed to listen to her again. Her fingers stretched and clenched as her arm raised, feeling heavy and awkward, and rested on her other forearm, bracing it.

He suddenly clamped down on her, and she let out a hurt animal noise (disobedience #1) and without thinking pulled her arm down with enough force that it slipped from his grip (disobedience #2). Her body slammed back against the wall. A bit dramatic, maybe, but she didn't want him breaking it worse, she thinks clearly (suddenly aware she’s able to think of anything other than pain and pressure).

“Too much?” he says suddenly, sounding oddly winded. She just nods, face red, eyes on the ground. “Fine,” he breathes in, adjusts his glasses. “Fine, maybe i went overboard. Chin up, look at me.”

She looks up nervously and he’s trying to play the part of the composed villain again. “You,” he says, “Are fascinating. Has anyone ever told you that?”

She doesn’t answer, she just thinks about if anyone would actually come if she screamed.“Small parts I can control, when you’re vulnerable,” He begins. What would she say to a good samaritan who decided to check on her? “But you snap back easily. Even with my moths overtaking you, you’re a worthy adversary, though and through.” Why was she in this lonely place with a much older man? Her friend’s father, for that matter.

He could tell she was fading out of his little monologue, and snapped his fingers. Marinette’s attention was suddenly on his every motion again, every word.

Like gospel, like Adrien.

“Fighting until the end. See, that’s how I wanted it.” He pushed his glasses up again. “If I had cornered you and forced you,” Very deliberate wording, “This wouldn’t feel as earned.”

She glares up and tries to catch his eyes again and stare him down, but her eyes are watering, her lip starting to tremble. She felt very small all the sudden, and needy, and helpless, but she wanted him to know she wasn’t giving up.

He shakes his head. “You know, for all the time we’d been doing this, I didn’t expect anyone quite like you.”

She says “You’re exactly what I expected.” Before she can stop herself. It gets a laugh out of him, loud and sharp enough that she flinches from it. She doesn’t think he laughs often.  
  
He placed a hand on her head, ruffling her hair condescendingly and slowly trailing down the side of her face, not daring to touch the earrings, but Marinette still shudders, still makes a soft ‘Hm’ noise.

He pauses as she shakes, his breath a bit louder than before, but soon enough he traces his fingers on her jawline. “Resilient as always.”

She rubbed the brace on her wrist and stared down at it. “Do I get to ask you questions?”

She could hear the smirk in his voice “Why did you think you had to ask for permission, hm?”

She can feel herself blush, but she's unsure why. “Look, just. I thought.” She was digging a hole for herself trying to stutter it out, so she just skips forward. “Why did you run?”

He doesn't answer, stops rubbing his thumb against her chin, apparently knocking the amusement out of him. She stares up at him, and his head tilts quizzically. “When we were face to face. You tried to say something, but you ran.” She considered for a second that he might not actually remember, and how disappointed she’d be.

He lets going of her face. “Does it matter?” She hates that response, because he barely believes his own deflection.

She was getting frustrated. “You could've bashed my head in. it would've been plenty dramatic. but you ran.” She's trying extremely hard to remain aggressive, measured, but feels a lump in her throat forming. “Were you scared?”

That did it. He presses a hand against her sternum and pins her against the wall just from that, air rushing from her lungs from shock alone. She tried to get the breath back into her body, but it was difficult not to focus on his splayed fingers, the way they pressed into the softness of her jacket and dug against her collarbone. “I felt sorry for you.” He says, as if it was the most obvious answer.

She doesn't look up, because she's focusing on how his hand is trembling. But she feels him loom down, feels the space above her taken up by his presence.

“One awful noise and you sunk to your feet. I’d never seen you in person, just watched you. I never considered how pitiable you could be.”

He lifts his hand from her chest and pushes her chin up to stare at him, rougher this time. They're inches apart now. “Consider it your best defense.”

She places her hands on his wrist. “What were you going to tell me?”

A long pause. Marinette tries to follow his gaze and realizes it stops solely on her brace. “I wanted to apologize. Isn’t that stupid? but,” He loosens his grip on her chin and his thumb reaches up and runs itself on her bottom lip. “That's how you make me feel.”

She swallows hard. “B-bad?”

“No. Sorry for you.”

He’s warm and his fingers are soft, gentle on her face. He watches her intently, the way her chest rises and falls, the breath coming out of her mouth in fog. Her brain feels hazy, but not in the same way as earlier.

 _Crack_.

“Mister Agreste?” She says, trying to keep her voice steady, resentful that she couldn't think of anything else to call him.  
  
He closes the gap between them and presses his lips against hers, and when he does she remembers the noise her wrist made under impact.

He’s warm, is her first thought, and her second thought is nothing. Her heart hammers in her chest, but she doesn't run. She wants to convince herself that it’s the akuma, but even without it she’d be frozen.

Her third thought is reading old interviews about him, following his shows, admiring him. Seeing him around the city smiling with his moviestar wife and beautiful son. Deciding she a career in fashion and right after that, the media frenzy surrounding the disappearance of Mrs. Agreste. Meeting adrien and slowly realizing something was very off about his dad.

Meeting him face to face and learning his secret. A little closer, a little worse.

He pulls back and she feels the immediate absence of warmth on her mouth, realizes how chaste it was. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds.

“I,” he stops again, and shakes his head. She feels very cold, and very very alone.

He stands up straight, clears his throat. Corners of his mouth slightly upturned. Getting back into the character of Hawk Moth. "Not your first, but a bad liar and a worse kisser?" he said, tsking her. “And far too easy to tempt.”

The level of indignity that rose her to was impressive, enough to start the fire in her chest again. “You shouldn't be kissing teenagers in alleys in the first place.” she said through gritted teeth.

He shrugs. “Fair,” he says, hands in his pockets, “But you barely tried to push back. Where's your fighting spirit?

She can feel her face go crimson and she looks down. She didn’t get it. She managed to wrench her hand out of his grasp, but her mind went blank with his lips against hers. She was scared (of course she was scared) but she got away once.

She dragged her gaze back up to his and spat on the ground. He laughed again, bemused with her disgust. “There we go. That’s what I was waiting for,” he says.

“You even taste slimey.” she said.

“Adolescent insults. Frightening.”

She really, really wanted to swing at him, but she already knew how strong he was. But this is a better mood, far more preferable than him harshly whispering why he loathed her. “We’re done here. You can go home, Ladybug.”

She almost said “That was it?”, but managed to keep quiet. He didn’t have to tell her twice. She shoved her hands in her pockets, shoulders up, willing to admit defeat this time. Anything to put distance, retreat, and try again later.

“Marinette,” he said, stopping her completely in her tracks.

“What.” She said loudly.

“Our secret. Understood? If we uphold any rule, let’s remember that one.”

She stared at the pavement in front of her. _Their_ secret. Something they were forced to share. She wanted to scream at him.

“... Understood.” She growled. Only because there was so much at risk.


End file.
